Turkey Shoot
by Heretic.Knight.515
Summary: Some ODSTs are hungry for more than vengeance when they're deployed to defend a planet from the Covenant. I've finally learned how to do endings: this story's a one-shot. One and done.


**AN: I've been dabbling in real writing. It's not easy, or fast, but I've made a tiny bit of headway. Got a short story published in an anthology. But I miss this site, and the days when I could gleefully pump out a chapter a day of personal wish-fulfillment fantasy. What do you guys think? Should I indulge in this stuff more often?**

The klaxons sounded, and my men jumped into motion. We broke into the secured storage lockers with the kind of rapid ease you ordinarily see from pianists, slapping on armor plating and securing our weapons. I grabbed something that was _not _standard issue out of my locker, grinning.

"Is that... is that butcher paper?"

I cocked a shit-eating grin in my rookie's direction. "It certainly is, Private."

I blurred back into motion, setting everything into place. From atmospheric seals to extra magazines, the ODST Battle-Dress Uniform took a lot of putting together. That's why we got a full minute, as opposed to vanilla twenty-second Marines. You need a lot of kit to fight the way we do.

But the new guy had stopped moving.

"But _why_ are you bringing butcher paper?"

"I'm a fan of arts and crafts," I stepped up to his nose, locking eyes with him. "Are my arts and crafts more important than suiting up, boy?" I snarled.

"No, Staff Sergeant!" Blinking rapidly, he went back to work.

"You're goddamn right." I tucked the long roll of paper to the side of my pack, where I'd rigged a system of elastic ties. The two feet of whiteness fit neatly with the rest of my obsessively organized war material.

Thanks to the little conversation with the FNG, my squad was the last to our pods. I wanted to cuss his ass out, but as we were launched out into vacuum, I decided to find a better time for it. We weren't past the minute mark, anyway, so it could wait.

The radio was barking on all channels. I accidentally strayed for a second onto the thin-band channel the AIs used to communicate at light-speed. To my meaty ears, it sounded like sped-up static.

The drop pods fell out of the sky, faster than the speed of sound. It was a fairly smooth ride, under we hit atmosphere. That's when flaps deployed, and we started to lose velocity. No sense in deploying the best Special Forces in humanity's history if you let them go splat right when the fun began. Or let them burn up in mid-air.

I could hear the new guy muttering prayers under his breath. It didn't drown out my squad's radio freq, so I didn't call him on it. Poor kid didn't know just how good the helmet mikes were.

I lifted my left hand and held out three fingers. I dropped my index finger, and then my ring finger, grinning.

Three, two, one.

The bottonmost rockets fired, slapping at the bottoms of our pods like the fist of an angry god. The rookie's prayers got a lot louder and more high-pitched, and I started to chuckle. Nothing like your first drop to loosen the bowels.

Hendricks, one of my old hands, spoke up. "You're doing great, kid. Gonna be fine."

"Fuck you," The FNG said. "Fuck you, you fucking fuckers."

"That's the way," I laughed. They didn't want boy scouts in the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. If you were the type to admit fear, then you weren't the type for the job.

The rockets on the bottom hit again, harder. It was the final stage of descent, the part that could break bones and kill you, if the AI hadn't done their math right.

Seconds later, the last hit happened. The kind of knockout smack that left less men concussed. The steel-framed door, burning hot, exploded outwards, and I found myself staring at Covenant.

One of 'em was dead. I guess my door hit him on the ass on the way off.

Two more, Grunts, looked like the Grim Reaper had just taken a shit on their whole day. In a sense, you could say that's exactly what happened.

I raised my shotgun, racked the slide, and took one of their heads off. The other one unfroze, priming a plasma grenade.

I stepped up and out of my pod, into the glorious morning sun. I'm sure it would have felt great to someone out of armor, but I had a job to do. And the second it took to shoot the other Grunt summed up that job pretty damn well.

The grenade exploded on top of the Grunt's already mangled corpse. I was just far enough to feel the warmth through my BDUs. I imagined the sun felt much the same way. And either way gave you cancer, so the comparison was pretty apt.

I took the moment of peace to crack my neck and get a feel for my surroundings.

Typical city environment, with a typical array of streets, lights, and fires. The Covenant were pretty consistent in that way.

"Two confirmed kills," I said aloud. "Ran another one over. Sound off. Butch?"

"Elite knicked me with a sword, so I made him eat my knife," Butch said.

I laughed. "I guess you get to add to that fang necklace. Hendricks?"

"I'm solid," My sniper said. "No action yet."

I nodded. "How about you, Rook?"

"I'm okay," He sounded unsure as to whether he was excited or terrified. "Shot a Jackal when the door opened."

"Hey, that's great, kid." I said. "First kill always has a special place in your heart."

I pulled out my assault rifle and slapped it on my back. When I checked my HUD mini-map, it showed the Rookie right in the middle of our target zone, with the rest of us scattered around him. "Right, ladies. RV at the noob's location. Noob: don't die, and stay put. We're coming to you."

"You got it, sarge."

I was humming a happy tune, jogging down the street. I usually liked to peg the Jackals myself, but beggars can't be choosers, and the UNSC didn't let us fight the damn things nearly often enough.

I had my own special Jackal ammo. In the _Navajo's_ armory, I custom-loaded my own shotgun shells, made to fit the M90 the Corps had given me. Some doubting souls might think that eight-gauge was too big for birdshot, but let me tell you something.

You can fit a lot of birdshot into an eight-gauge shell. What it lacks in armor penetration, it more than makes up with spread. I never understood why the Covenant liked their armor so thick in some areas, without any in others. Lots of bare skin to perforate.

I groaned when I saw the Rookie. Or, more specifically, when I saw his kill.

"Sweet salty Christ, what did you do to the poor thing?"

"Um. What?"

"I mean, come on. Did you have to go full-auto?"

The MA5Cs we packed were built to kill bigger things than Jackals. The 7.62 FMJ rounds, sprayed with what looked like a lot of terrified gusto, had absolutely destroyed the Jackal. I grabbed the spiny ridge on its head and pulled. Only a thing string of flesh still held it to the trunk.

Hendricks jogged up next, and immediately chuckled down at the wrecked corpse.

"I think you got him, kid."

"He surprised me, alright?" The Rookie snapped.

"Dammit," I was legitimately disappointed.

"Sorry," The kid told me. "I shouldn't have wasted so much ammo."

"No, no. That's alright. I'm sure we can find another one."

"Huh?"

Butch jogged up, toting her own shotgun. A neat little necklace of Elite fangs hung around her neck, and purple blood drenched her right forearm.

"Damn," He said, seeing the Jackal. "Ah, well, Staff. I'm sure we'll find another one."

"I truly hope we do." More than one mission had been wrapped up before it began. That's how you did military conquests: you brought way more firepower to bear than you actually needed. You didn't ease up on the gas until the field was entirely yours. Or you backed off before you could get fucked up the creek. One way or the other, we were always in motion in the field.

I turned away and spoke into the radio. "Breeze, we're all together. Ready for orders."

"Thank you, Staff Sergeant," The cool, whispery voice of Cooling Breeze wafted through our helmets. The _Navajo's_ AI was weird as hell, but she was good at what she did.

"Proceed west. Neutralize hostiles and take the field. We've already won, but you might nab a straggler or two."

I smiled, emptying out a shell and putting in one of my special ones. "You know just how to cheer me up, Breeze. Over and out."

We started running down the street, keeping low and to the sides, where the cover was plentiful. To his credit, the Rookie kept pace.

Butch was up front, right where he liked it. With that shotgun, modified for solid-shot, self-targeting kit, he was as useful as any idiot with an assault rifle. The new guy was with me, out on the other side of the street, where an errant blast of plasma wouldn't kill both of us. Hendricks brought up the rear, with that big honking sniper rifle of his. Unless something shot at us from around the corner, out of his line of sight, Hendricks was an artist with the thing. He'd shot Elites off of me more than once.

"Contact," Butch said. I could see him, up ahead, but I couldn't see much past. "To the left. Haven't seen me yet."

I perked up. "What are we looking at, Butch?"

I heard a smile in his voice. "Two Elites, four Grunts, and three, I say again, _three _Jackals."

"Oh, this is gonna be great. Stay low, Butch. We're catching up."

Hendricks ran fastest, and quietest. He went to the right side of the street, with the Rookie. Then he passed him.

"I'm guessing we do this like we did on Acheron, right sarge?" Hendricks asked me.

"Yes, indeed. Whenever you're ready."

A second later, a shot rang out. I sprinted up.

I heard an Elite roar and the Grunts chitter. The little crab-boys ran up, towards Hendricks, popping off little spurts of green plasma. I was in the perfect spot to raise some hell.

Humans, aliens, whatever. When you see a threat, you hone in on it. You attack it. And you never see the flanking maneuver coming.

With my pistol, I took off two Unggoy heads before they could blink. Then they blinked, and I took off the other two heads. The remaining Elite barked an order, and I heard the characteristic long, sweeping steps of a Kig-Yar.

He knew I was there, and he was prepared. But I don't care how fast you are. You don't get faster than my trigger finger, when I'm ready and waiting.

With an eight-gauge load of birdshot, I blew off his stupid, unarmored head.

Another sniper round went off, and I could only hear something like a heavy body fall to the pavement. The second Elite was down.

I hurried to load another round of birdshot, giggling. I'd never gotten three at one time. Either they were part of a larger force, and I didn't have the luxury of birdshot, or they were in numbers too small. This was shaping up to be a great day.

The other Jackals were more cautious. I decided to bring in some help.

"Butch."

"Yeah?"

"What guns do the rest have?"

"Carbines, sarge."

"Hmm."

A reckless man would have charged by then, but then again, most reckless ODSTs didn't make it past their first few drops. Covenant Carbines could snap off a headshot in an instant. They could kill me the way I killed their buddy.

"Hendricks, they see you?"

"They haven't shot me, so, no. They don't see me."

"Good. Be a good boy and take one of their hats off. On my mark."

"You got it, boss."

"Ready..." Timing was essential. "_Mark_!"

The shot snapped off, so loud it was very nearly a physical force. The moment it did, and Hendricks revealed his position, I jumped out. The Jackal was closer than I'd expected, and faster.

It's carbine snapped to me and fired a shot off, quick as lightning. If I hadn't been taking a long sidestep, the thin lance of green might have killed me. Instead, I emptied my shotgun barrel into its face.

"Three for three!" I hollered, and let out a whooping rebel yell. "That's how we get it done, Marines. Damn fine work."

The boys started towards me. Hendricks and Butch reached the other two Jackals and dragged them towards me.

"What the hell are you doing?" The new guy asked.

Butch chuckled, dumping the body at my feet. I set my pack down and took out the butcher paper, as well as my combat knife.

"It's a bit gamey, but if you cook it right?" I said. "Tastes like the dark meat of a turkey made sweet love to the stringier bits of a chicken."

The rookie stared.

"He eats them," Hendricks said.

"_What_?"

I sunk my knife deep into the first Jackal I killed. I started carving out the meat of the upper chest. "I'd love to make you some, but there are folk that find this a bit gross. It's one thing to gobble some gobblers on your own, but the Commander gave me a stern talking-to the last time I pushed Kentucky Friend Jackal on my men."

Butch laughed. "Tasted like fried ass, if you ask me."

"That one," I said, "was a failure. An experiment. You liked the Jackal Parmesan, didn't you?"

"It wasn't bad," Butch chuckled. "Wasn't _good_, either."

I looked the FNG right in the eye. "In the early years, they ate us. Grunts and Jackals would round up civilians and tear into them by the hundreds. This?" I sheared off a hefty steak that I cut from the upper left leg, staining my hand with bluish gore. "This is fucking _civilized_."

I remembered the beginning of the war. Its a habit I try to avoid.

"Shit, if it wasn't for incompatible body chemistry, I'd be munching on fried hinge-head, popcorn style, on my down time. I'd eat the Grunts with nutcrackers and butter. I might shy away from buggers and Hunters, but I'd gnaw at Brute ribs with barbecue sauce any day of the goddamn week."

"Damn, boss," Butch said. "You're making me hungry."

"My gut can digest Jackals, so I eat Jackals. That gonna be a problem, kid?"

The rookie looked like he was about to puke. I gave him a minute.

"No, sir."

"Good. 'Cause I don't have enough room in my pack for all of it. You're gonna lug some of it, at least until we get back to the ship."

The rookie ran to the side and vomited. I laughed.

"Geez, kid. Way to spoil my appetite."


End file.
